This cove gets dark and eerie on the nights when the water is high.  Last night I could almost reach down and grab a fish with my bare hands.   Shadows lurk under the dock like big black holes, shifting into different shapes.  Yet, the silence on these nights is often scarier than the shadows.  Sometimes, the only sounds are faint ones from the shore where the fish are swimming in the swamp bushes.  They go there to hide when the dam opens, the water floods and the sun starts to set. 

I was there last night as the sky turned purple, hoping I would fade into the quiet darkness, become another shadow on the water.  Not to escape, but to learn to be less fearful of the dark here.  I had hoped to get photos of the sunset, a sequence as it dropped behind the trees.  However, I got lost in thought and it suddenly became clear to me why I love being here.

As far back as I can remember, there has always been a lake in my life.  My memories are filled with childhood summers at my grandparent's house, and of course, the lake on my father's farm is so dear to me.  Every year of my life, there's never not been a lake.  However this came to be, I now have my own.

I'm looking out the window now, rain is pouring down but the water is crystal clear.  I can see the sand and the island and the bottom of the dock today. 



When we told people we were moving to this town, they told us to run.  Run far away....it's corrupt, it's dirty, it's poor.   "Why?" they asked.  We've seen scowls and frowns and turned shoulders.  We've felt the disappointment, the disgust, the judgment.  
But, with every winding street and secret drive, it pulled us in.  In so tight we knew we had to live here.  Our hearts are calm here, every beat at peace. 

It is old here, some of it is dirty and a lot of it is poor.  But there's stories to tell and stories to share here.  The pull tells us to be a part of the belonging, part of the growing, part of the people.  So here we are, at our new home.  
" If you judge people, you have no time to love them"  (Mother Teresa)  



I was warned that summers in the south would shake me up a little.  That's what one woman said to me in line at the grocery store the first week I was down here.  I think I laughed a little and made some remark about my wild curly hair, completely unaware that what she really meant was, the days are so hot that you breathe steam and sweat will run down your back relentlessly.  She was probably thinking, you poor poor girl...you'll see.


So it's hot here.  I've also come to learn that we are fools....undeniably, foolish.  I don't know what happened to simplifying and downsizing, but along the way, we got starry-eyed for the grandeur of an old southern home.  Of course, it's not livable and is filthy beyond comprehension.  It was practically free, and good thing because every inch of it needs work.  We've switched our tune from a little cottage to a big family home that everyone can share.  Only to justify our foolishness.  But, it does have eleven pecan trees and two pear trees and a huge yard for those secret gardens I want.  And if I cool down enough to sort through 622 pictures, I'll let you in on our very slow progress.
All in all, it's good.  It's hot, sweaty, foolish good. 



The afternoons are all the same.  Every day around three o'clock, when the sun is high and the sky is blue, the rain pours down, fierce and wild.  Yesterday, I took a break before it came and planted flowers that I can see from the kitchen window.  
They call the rains, sunshowers . . . isn't that a happy and wonderful word.
Enjoy your weekend, friends. 



I wandered around the yard this weekend, dreaming of how I can make hidden paths and secret gardens, should I want to pick flowers in my nightgown as the evening sun sets, or in the early morning before anyone awakes.



Good Morning. I would rather start this morning off with a few of the prettier moments of this weekend.  We got the keys to our new house on Friday morning and by the afternoon, sweaty, hungry, overwhelmed and pooped, we realized this is going to be a much bigger project than we had anticipated ... and hoped for.  I'm still exhausted this morning, hence, the few words.  Thankfully, pretty flowers grow through the fence.

grateful?  yes.  blessed?  yes . . . however, it does look like we're all in for a very long story here.

 If you want to brighten your morning, visit  Jane .... she's sharing flowers in the house today. 



I walk to the dock, to the woods, to the cabin and back to the dock again.  I sit on the back stairs and watch the water, watch the woods and watch the water again.  I pick wet flowers from the shore, wild grass from the woods and baskets of pinecones and driftwood. 
I listen to the woodpecker knock on the side of the cabin, always in a 1 2 3, 11 22 33 rhythm.  I take handfuls of cat food down to the water and feed the fish and the geese. and the little cat when she comes around.
And then there's the Blue Heron,  gosh, I love him.  I watch him, stalk him, try to call him and photograph him a lot.

This is the life I've been living.  Sounds lovely, doesn't it?   It is.  It truly is.  I could write everyday about how peaceful and lovely it is here, how it calms me, how it wakes me up and sends me to sleep. I would be lying though if I said I wasn't ( just a little ) homesick. Oh, but the freedom and the beauty here helps that go away, little by little everyday.

My mother thinks that once I have my own house here I'll stop wondering when it's time for me to go back home.  She may be right, I think she's right . . .  I hope she's right.

So, that's what we did....we bought a house.  tomorrow we get the keys, and I will go home . . . .  .



Listen, sometimes words aren't necessary. 
  I knew life would be different. 
 I didn't know it would be so good.
or that I would fall in love with life in a little cabin